


The Good Enough

by jennfics



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 12:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9656894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennfics/pseuds/jennfics
Summary: Ginny agrees to a professional athlete celebrity edition of Worst Cook's in America. Mike agrees to help her win.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A Valentine's Day gift for lawson-bawson-baker. I hope you like this and have a fabulous Valentine's Day! <3

“You’ve got to help me. I think I’ve made a grave mistake.”

 

“It’s a cooking competition, Baker. Of course you’ve made a mistake.”

 

Ginny’s pleaded with him for the last 15 minutes, but doesn’t seem any closer to wearing him down. She agreed to participate in a professional athlete celebrity edition of Worst Cook’s in America, and it’s not until after receiving the confirmation email that she starts to truly question her judgment.

 

“I said yes because it’s for charity, but I had no idea it would be Valentine’s Day themed. I mean, come on. What could they possibly ask us to cook for that?” She’s pacing Mike’s kitchen and holding a spatula she pulled from the drawer.

 

“Do you even know what to use that for?” He points to the object, but she just shrugs.

 

“Stirring, right? It stirs things?”

 

Mike’s had every intention of saying yes since she called him this morning in a panic, carrying on about Ronda Rousey and souffles and _oh god Mike, what have I done_. He’s learned over the past two years that’s it’s practically impossible to say no to Ginny Baker, especially when you’re in love with her. He has to remind himself daily, sometimes more than once, of how they aren’t together. Not in the traditional sense, anyway. So maybe he finds excuses to spend as much time with her as possible and to touch her in every not-quite-platonic way, but he’s got one last season and she’s still the first woman in the MLB. What they have right now is good and needs to be enough until she makes the call.

 

“Ok, Baker. Fine. I’ll help you but only because this is bordering on pathetic and I can’t have you making me look bad.” Getting up from his seat across the counter, Mike takes the spatula from Ginny.

 

“How exactly would my cooking skills -” Mike raises his eyebrows in challenge.

 

“Ok fine, my _lack_ of cooking skills reflect poorly on you?”

 

“Because you’re my rookie, rookie.” Raising her hands in question, he just smiles. “And that means I’m responsible for guiding you and teaching you in the ways of the Master.”

 

“The ways of the Master?” She pops her hip out, brandishing him with a look of incredulity. “I think this is a new high point - or maybe I should say low point - for your ego, Lawson.”

 

“You want my help or not?” He opens the drawer, holding out three different utensils. “Tell me what these are and what they do?”

 

Ginny looks at the offending objects with disgust, crossing her arms as she scowls.

 

“I told you Rookie, you don’t mess with the Master.” She can only groan in admonishment at the preening show pony she’s created as Mike moves around the kitchen trying to explain the different tools.

 

“Fine, Lawson. Teach me your masterful ways so I can not be the Worst Cook in America and humiliate myself on national television.”

 

“Ok, listen up.” Mike tosses the garlic press, peeler, and mallet back in the drawer and gestures to the stool he just got up from. She takes her seat, making a show of propping her elbows on the counter and giving her undivided attention.

 

“I’m not going to be able to teach you to cook.” Ginny starts to respond, but Mike holds up a hand. “There’s just not enough time left for you to learn everything. But I have an idea.”

 

“Why do I get the feeling I’m going to regret this?”

 

“You’ll get me a ticket and I’ll give you calls from the audience. We’ll come up with signs for bake and broil, different utensils, seasonings. Hit all the basics. I’ll teach you what I can and then we’ll manage the rest.”

 

Ginny stares at Mike for a long moment, and he thinks she’s going to tell him off. But to his surprise, a grin breaks across her face. Leaning over the counter, she grabs his hand and pulls him toward her until their foreheads touch. The quick kiss she drops on the tip of his nose sends a hot flush along his collar.

 

“Don’t let this go to your head, Lawson, but I think you might actually be a genius.”

 

\--

 

Looking up from her station, she could see Mike moving to a seat within her vantage point. The anxiety she’d been feeling about whether or not she’d have eyes on him to watch for the calls dissipated quickly. He’s dead center to her eyeline with limited obstructions.

 

She can do this.

 

As though reading her mind, Mike gives her a thumbs up followed by a closed fist. The universal sign for _all good_ and _you got this_. Trying not to draw attention to herself, Ginny only nods slightly in return.

 

“That Mike Lawson cheering for you up there?” Ginny turns to Ronda, who’s wearing a friendly if not curious smile.

 

“Cap’ wouldn’t miss an opportunity to haze me for my cooking skills. He practically begged for a ticket.” Ginny tries to shrug her off gently.

 

The last thing she needs is the rumor mill to run with how Mike and Ginny are spending their time off season, especially so close to spring training. The past year showing her exactly what she’s made of in the most visceral sense, she’s definitely not looking for a salacious _US Weekly_ spread.

 

Physical pain of recovery and returning to training she expected, but the mental drain and frankly, absolute mess her head space was in those early months is ultimately what broke her. She’s a professional athlete. It’s not like she hasn’t been injured before, but never for that long or with so much on the line.

 

And the supports she had - Blip and Evelyn, Elliot, Al and the team - were great and necessary; but not what she wanted.

 

Ginny Baker has never been a woman who cries for what she can’t have or pines for any man. But she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit there were nights when she thought about the way he says her name or how he smells or the faint brush of whiskers against her lips.

 

Worse still was Noah. Their relationship wasn’t meant to weather an almost career-ending injury, at least not so near the start. Noah was nice. He was what she thought she wanted at the time, and it was good enough. But that box - the for now - was a trap she didn’t want to see coming but in the end couldn’t ignore. Eventually, good enough deteriorates and morphs into something less and without. She hadn’t meant it, but in the end that wasn’t what mattered.

 

Noah was just Noah, and he wasn’t good enough.

 

How she and Mike found their way back to a good place she still isn’t sure. He and Rachel hadn’t made it long after their reconciliation. Ginny hopes he was able to realize a few things about himself during that time, mostly along the lines of just how good a man he is and what he deserves.

 

She likes to think he recognized the good enough when he saw it, and decided he needed more too.

 

They weren’t together, but they weren’t separate either. Mike was retiring at the end of the coming season, an as-yet-to-be-announced piece of news only a handful of people knew. Ginny wanted him to focus on playing his last year as a Padre, and he wanted her to feel confident in her first full season as a not-rookie. Baseball was the priority, for now.

 

The difference between the good enough and Mike and Ginny was like the difference between batting in a run and a grand slam. One made you feel good for a while, could happen with minimal effort. The other was an excitement humming for days after, a happiness permeating every person it touched.

 

Once you’ve tasted greatness, there’s no going back. Nothing quite satisfies.

 

There’ll never be another _good enough_.

 

Plus if she were going to make it through this competition with some semblance of dignity, she needed her batterymate. And being called out on live television for maybe cheating at a competition for the least worst cook was a very specific kind of humiliation.

 

“Bonus of team sports,” Ronda says with a smile. “Always someone to have your back.”

 

Ginny’s cheeks redden slightly as she nods in agreement. “You’re right about that. It’s not easy for us, as I’m sure you know.” Ronda looks away for a moment before refocusing on Ginny. “But the Padres accept me for me. I’m not Ginny Baker, the first female in the MLB. I’m Ginny Baker, ballplayer. That means something.”

 

“I was hesitant to be on here,” she looks around the room appraisingly. “And when they said you’d be here, I thought they were trying to run some kind of game on female athletes not being female enough because we can’t cook. All the commentary would be about what we _aren’t_ doing.”

“Still might happen,” Ginny points out.

 

“True, but at least with Phelps here we know they aren’t working the female angle alone.”

 

“And Eberle?”

 

“I heard Cam Newton dropped out when they told him there’d be a meat course. He’s vegetarian or something. Eberle was the best they could come up with on short notice. Although, not sure it’s fair they gave Newton a warning about what we might be making and left the rest of us in the dark.”

 

Ginny swallowed hard at that. In fairness, she didn’t know how to cook much of anything despite the past week of moderately intensive training in the ways of the Master. Besides, Mike was really only there to make sure she didn’t accidentally burn the studio down.

 

“30 seconds to air!”

 

“Good luck, Baker.” Ronda held out her hand for Ginny, who offered her a firm grip and a smile. “Let’s take these boys out.”

 

“They’re going down, for sure. The hockey puck and the human fish aren’t about to beat us.” Both women were trying to hide their laughter as the show went live.

 

In the end, the male contestants are out before the final challenge. Jordan Eberle goes out first as the judges refuse to drink his version of a margarita for the cocktail challenge.

 

“I just made a regular margarita with the good tequila, then added all the aphrodisiac ingredients: strawberries, chocolate, and two blended up oysters for a little pizzaz.” Rachel Ray turns slightly green at the thought.

 

Ginny swears she can hear Mike’s laughter louder than the rest of the crowd.

 

The meat entree is Beef Wellington, which turns out to be Michael Phelps undoing. The distinct smell of smoke coming from his oven is what sinks him, as the crust over is cooked and meat raw. Entree is also the round Ginny mistakes Mike’s sign for seasoning. She forgets the salt and pepper completely; so while her dish has practically no taste, it’s still not Phelps-level fail and she makes the cut.

 

Dessert is heart-shaped sugar cookies with royal icing. Ginny glances to Mike several times, particularly for oven temperature and setting the timer. Pulling her tray from the oven, she notices her cookies have spread more than expected. Less hearts and more bulbous triangles, but her icing is flawlessly set.

 

When she places her plate before the judges, there’s a sharp whistle from the stands. Knowing it’s Mike but not wanting to divert her attention, she smiles widely at both judges. Anne Burrell points out her cookies’ shape and adds some tidbit about softened butter, but praises her icing and decorative piping.

 

Ginny glances at Ronda’s plate and knows she’s got this in the bag. Her cookies are the perfect shape, but the icing has melted completely and the only decorations are a few errant sprinkles.

 

When Ginny is crowned the Least Worst Cook in America, she gives Ronda a tight hug.

 

“You bested me, Baker. I’d say I’m sorry to lose but that’s only because of how much I like winning. You did great.”

 

“Thanks, Ronda. So did you. And hey, at least neither of us thought drinkable fish was a good idea!”

 

Ronda points to the towel in Ginny’s hand, “Saved one for your catcher?”

 

Ginny can’t stop the blush creeping along her cheeks. “He’s got a sweet tooth.”

 

“I bet he does.” Ronda only raises her eyebrows when Ginny’s lips seal together tightly. “I learned it the hard way early on, and even though you aren’t asking my opinion I’m giving it to you anyway. If it’s good, hold on to it. Keep it close.”

 

The two women share a knowing smile. “Next time you find yourself in San Diego, let me know. There’ll be box seats at Petco waiting for you.”

 

Ginny finds Mike waiting outside the studio where the rest of the audience let out earlier. As they walk to his car, she holds the towel-wrapped cookie out to him.

 

“What’s this?”

 

“Just open it.” Ginny wraps one hand around his bicep as they walk. He’s staring down at her, trademark Lawson smugness on full display.

 

“That’s the ugliest cookie I’ve ever seen, rook.” In fairness, it’s not pretty. The icing is a strange Pepto pink, and there’s just no accounting for the shape.

 

She pinches his arm to make him jump just a little. “Shut up and take a bite.”

 

Mike smiles at the cookie fondly, noticing the carefully arranged tiny heart-shaped sprinkles spelling out an “M.” He takes a large bite because he’s a brave man who’s head over heels for this woman beside him; and for as much as he teases her, he’ll happily eat her terrible cooking every day or at least pretend to if it means he’s making her happy.

 

“It’s surprisingly not terrible.” Ginny smiles, but then pulls away to punch him squarely in the arm.

 

“Hey, woah! I said it _wasn’t_ terrible, didn’t I?” Mike stuffs the rest of the cookie in his mouth, rubbing at his shoulder as he feigns hurt.

 

“Are you lying to me?” Ginny bumps his shoulder with hers.

 

“Baker, am I the kinda guy who would lie to spare your feelings?” Mike waves an appraising hand from head to sternum, making Ginny snort.

 

“Not in this lifetime.”

 

“So take the compliment.”

 

“ _Not terrible_ is a compliment?” Mike wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her in close.

 

“When it comes to your cooking? Oh, yes.” Ginny’s hand snakes along his waist, and they walk the rest of the distance toward the car linked together.

 

“You did good, Gin. I’m proud of you,” he says as he presses his lips to her temple. She stops them short and turns to face him, wrapping both arms around him.

 

“Couldn’t have done it without you, you know.” Mike has to hold back the urge to kiss her dimples. _They aren’t there yet and it isn’t the time_ , he reminds himself.

 

“Oh, trust me Baker, I know.” She laughs loudly. Mike takes advantage of the moment and holds her close. Ginny lets herself fall against him, pressing her ear to his chest and listening to his heart beat.

 

“Should I make dinner or are you going to bust out your new found culinary skills and whip us something up?” He’s smiling into her hair, and she can feel his beard tickle along her forehead.

 

Ginny pulls back just enough to look him in the eye, “tell you what. How about you cook and I’ll give the calls.”

 

“You give the calls? You think you’re good enough there, rookie?” He means to be light and teasing; but he’s too affected having waited well over the last year for her to do exactly that.

 

Reaching up slightly, she kisses the apple of one furry cheek then runs her nose along his sweetly. Mike’s fingers flex and work along her spine, and she’s sure he’s going to give in. He’s just as tired as she is of pretending this thing between them isn’t everything.

 

“Oh, no Captain. I’m not good enough,” she purrs with a smile. “I’m the best you’re gonna get.”

 

“Yeah you are,” he whispers against her lips. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Gin.”

 

“Valentine’s Day isn’t for another month,” she adds grinning, knowing she’s pushing him.

 

“Would you just shut up and kiss me for once?” They’re both smiling and the kiss is all teeth and tongues with little finesse, but it’s perfect and them and more than enough. 


End file.
